Whitewashed
by Sanguine Balladist
Summary: Two cold people try to find warmth through the brutal New York winter. Will emotions warm to the surface or will everything shatter around them?


Hands shoved deep inside her pockets, she let out an irritated sigh, watching the snow fall against the whitewashed cityscape. A dirty blanket was already wrapped around New York from a few days earlier, mixed with dirt and grime, making everything a little bit harder then it should have been. Just like their case. No leads, no witnesses, and no idea what had transpired. All they knew for sure was a little girl had died just in time for Christmas and nobody was around to care, except for the detectives. _Two weeks until Christmas._ It broke her heart. That's what had her up so late with nobody but herself to blame, filling out reports and trying to get a fresh look on old evidence. Four hours after her shift had officially ended and she still had nothing. Nothing but a headache.

"Detective?"

Brown trench coat swirling around her, she turned back towards the precinct, surprise glinting her eyes. Alexandra Cabot. It was...well, the last she had looked it was two in the morning, on a Sunday. As far as she knew the district attorney's office was closed, just like the police station. Crime didn't take a break, but law enforcement still had to catch their breath to start the whole process all over again. An endless vicious cycle.

The blonde walked up next to her, all leg and little else. Form fitting suits were her calling card, the pencil skirts just an additional cherry to top everything else with. The only variation was the thin, although expensive looking, coat clinging almost desperately to her frame. Someday she'd learn that functionality would always top fashion. "Big case I don't know about?" Olivia finally spoke, her voice a little rougher then what she hoped for. Three nights without much sleep had that effect, combined with the steady diet of coffee and fierce interrogations.

Alex let out a light laugh that seemed to ease everything all at once, if only for a second. "No, just catching up on some additional papers. There's no need to jeopardize a case due to carelessness." Running a gloved hand through her hair, she readjusted the suitcase in her hand. "What about you, detective? I was sure everyone had gone home by now."

_Detective._ It was never Olivia, or Benson, or any combination of the two. It was always her title, professional, with only the slightest hint of personality behind it. The assistant district attorney prided herself in professionalism, everyone knew it, and sometimes Olivia was damn well jealous of it. She could have been a professional and not chosen a job so closely tied to her past. She could have been a professional and not slept with a coworker. She could have been a professional _anything_, but instead she was a detective. Plain and simple. Her life in a nutshell. "They're probably at home by now." It wasn't bitter, just...hollow sounding as it rolled off her tongue. "I just wish I was smart enough to bring my car on Friday." It was cold, a few degrees bellow zero, and she was dreading the walk to her apartment.

"Friday?" Alex slowly picked up the pieces from there. "You haven't been home in three days?" She's by no means uneducated, given her line of work and how quickly she's made a name of herself. Hell, Don hadn't put it together that she'd been sleeping in the crib yet, and even if he had he didn't speak a word of it to her. Elliot was too preoccupied by saving what was left of his marriage to notice, and she didn't blame him. He needed to focus if he wanted to keep the kids, in all honesty. If Kathy wanted to, she could take them in an instant, and she wasn't ready to deal with a childless Elliot. She wasn't ready for a lot of things. "When's the last time you've eaten?" No accusations, no tone.

She thought back, only to replay one of her files over and over again in the back of her head. "Jane Doe, eight years old with two fractured ribs and a broken arm. The last thing she had eaten was a bowl of cereal and toast. No family to speak of. Just...a bowl of cereal and toast." Her shoulders sagged, ever so slightly, but it was noticed by both of them, the falling snow silently witnessing the interaction. "I honestly can't remember the last time I've eaten."

Alex regards her sadly, but it isn't with pity. She can't entirely put her finger on it. "Let me put that file in my briefcase so it doesn't get ruined." She had completely forgotten about the case file shoved roughly beneath her arm, held tightly against her side by force of habit. Had she meant to leave with it? Most likely. "My car's around the corner, and if you want you can spend the night, have a quick meal. I don't promise anything fancy but it'll be warm at the very least. I'd offer you a ride home but the roads are only suppose to get worse and I'm not quite sure where you live."

Olivia shuffles her feet in thought, something she use to do back in her academy days. All that pent up energy just begging to get out, so she'd just scuff her shoes against the ground in hopes of it dissolving away. "I don't want to be a bother." She adds as her mind wanders over the possibilities. She could try walking home, dodging into whatever stores were open to keep warm before heading out again. It would take her an hour at the very least. There wasn't a cab in sight, and she doubted she would run into one on the walk either. "But I would appreciate it. I can take the couch until the weather dies down." In all honesty this is the most the two of them have talked in the past few months, both too busy and run down to put time aside for anything else. Whenever there was a break, the detectives would all meet at the bar and top a few off, just to shrug off the day. She had thought about stopping at the bar tonight, but they were already closed and she wasn't fond of going alone in the first place.

"Alright then." Olivia hands her the file, watching as its placed carefully atop the seemingly endless amount of papers and textbooks, the case locked and ready to go again. "It's no bother, really." The reassurance is heartfelt, and as they climb into her car it takes Olivia a moment to realize something.

"A Prius?" She'd read about them on the internet and seen a few in the city, but she never understood the appeal. The carbon footprint was already too big, you couldn't undo the damage that was already done. Then again they were suppose to be experts in saving gas, some even hybrids not that she knew much on the subject. Criminals very rarely drove Prius around.

Alex simply rolled her eyes as she made her way through the slushy streets, windshield wipers blocking her vision in a steady rhythm. "A little more conventional then your Mustang, I would say." After the investigation a year ago, it was hard for a lot of people not to remember her pride and beauty. Luckily she had a heated garage rented to store it in, not that it was doing her any good right now. Olivia smirked back at the taunt and settled into her seat, surprised with how quiet the ride was despite the layers of snow clinging to the tires and the occasional catch on ice. The steady hum only helped the tranquil environment.

"Detective."

Feeling her shoulders being lightly shook, she startled out of her sleep, eyes glancing around her. "Hm? Oh, Alex. What are you doing here?" Running a heavy hand through her hair, she let out a slight sigh, unsure of when she had fallen asleep. Probably after filling out her five's.

"It's interesting how often I'm found inside my own car. The very same car in which you fell asleep." That made sense, the more she thought about it and the more the cobwebs faded from her mind. Was she getting old or just run down? Probably a bit of both.

Making their way up the stairs, Olivia couldn't help but take stock of the entire building. Private garage bellow ground, not heated but shielded from snow all the same. A choice between stairs or elevator, which they thankfully took the later. No doorman, but it was late so it could still be a possibility. What side of town were they on, even? If there would be a second visit to Alex's apartment, she'd make sure to pay better attention next time. She despised not knowing something. Especially something as simple as knowing _where_ she was. The decorations were simple, the occasional mass produced painting or plant, plain wallpaper and carpeted floors.

Finally they made it to Apartment 55, fifth floor at the very end of the rather extensive hallway. Olivia noticed the simple lock, not that she was afraid of such an expensive looking complex being broken into, least of all Alex's which was well out of the way. No, she had made a smart move when she took the place. "Make yourself at home. Let me put away these papers and I'll throw some Chinese in the microwave, how does that sound?" With Olivia's simple nod she left into the small hallway, leaving her alone in the kitchen as she rested her hands on the island. _Her kitchen had an island._ Sometimes Olivia wondered how people from two completely different worlds could be so tightly intertwined. Her own kitchen had a rat infestation and the occasional missing cabinet door. It wasn't like she was home enough to really make it matter, anyways.

Alex's apartment on the other hand, was an interesting sight. Very clean and very proper, everything organized and settled in a particular fashion. The walls were a soft brown, black picture frames encasing photographs of Paris and Rome, but no personal photography. There were a few bamboo's scattered around in small simple vases, cut almost all at the same length, healthy and strong. In the living room there was a black leather couch along with two black leather recliners, the entire set up forming an open box around the small plasma television in the entertainment center. The fine layer of dust on the screen made it known how often it was actually used, if at all. Running her hand over the book on the coffee table she bent down to read it, a small smirk showing on her face. A law book, of course. Her house was so artificial it was a wonder anyone lived there at all.

"Would you like Chow Mien or Sweet and Sour Chicken?" Alex's voice drifted back to her from the kitchen, snapping her from her thoughts as she made her way back.

"Sweet and Sour Chicken is fine." She watched as Alex took out the appropriate meals from the freezer, amused to learn they were weight watcher meals of all things. She never pegged Alex as one who would conform to a diet plan, but then again they did make delicious meals. "Your apartment is very relaxing." There weren't piles of clothes to trip over or pipes that needed fixing. There weren't neighbors upstairs screaming at one another or kids down the hall blasting their music at all hours of the night. "I noticed the television doesn't get used much."

Pressing the buttons on the microwave, she turned, resting her hip against the counter. "No, it was a gift from a relative. I'm not much of a fan. I get most of my shows and news online now. More convenient, I suppose." She pulled down two glasses, filling them with wine before stopping halfway. "White wine is fine? I completely forgot..."

"It's fine." Apparently wine with dinner is a tradition in the Cabot apartment, and Olivia isn't about to break such a habit without knowing how far it goes. She isn't completely opposed to alcohol, as long as it was responsibly used. She doubted Alex was the type to get drunk, during any occasion, especially not at home. Taking the glass offered to her, she takes a small sip with a smile, glad to know it wasn't as fruity as she thought it was going to be. Much more mellow and very deep, something she enjoyed. "Good taste."

"Firestone, 89. I'm not much for dates but they make the best wine." The microwave calling out its discontent, she tends to it and rearranges their meals before hitting the timer again. "Are you more of a white wine or a red wine person?"

She shrugs her shoulders nervously, a slight laugh escaping despite herself. "I'm more of a beer person, honestly. But I do enjoy white wines when the mood strikes me. Reds are too foggy and champagne is too bubbly." She remembers distinctly her mom offering her champagne when she was eight, immediately coughing as it rose up through her nose, uncomfortable to no end. Eight years old, just like their Jane Doe...

"When you're done with that, I do have a couple of Bud Lights, though I'm not entirely sure where they came from." Alex isn't a social person and she doesn't entertain often. More then likely they're outdated and far past their prime, but she isn't in the mood to check, and decides instead to tend to the meals, taking off the plastic and grabbing the appropriate silverware. She moves with a practiced grace, Olivia notes, and it's hard to not keep her eyes from the slender form and tender steps. The kitchen is probably the most used out of the house, with a few opened letters on the counter and a single dish resting in the sink. Even the things she left out on a whim seemed orderly, something that kept striking her as odd. Being such a messy and disorganized person, she couldn't relate. "Spoon or fork?"

"Fork, please." Stabbing was easier then scooping, and after a day like today she could use the extra violence in her life, as mundane and pointless as it may seem in such a simple action. She knew better though, then to shrug it off, and instead decided to brace whatever energy she had left. At the rate she was going, she'd show up at the precinct and collapse at her desk, in the middle of filling out forms. And then what? They'd send her home and she'd just pace around like a caged dog anyways. No, she'd push through and keep going.

Alex made their way into the living room, sitting on one of the large armchairs as Olivia took the couch, knees resting up against the arm rest, feet tucked beneath her. They eat in relative silence, both exhausted and both a little nervous about their first personal encounter. Probably more then they needed to be, considering how close they worked together on a daily basis. "You look exhausted." Alex finishes her meal first, spoon placed neatly atop the discarded plastic plate, arms folded across her chest as she leans back into the chair, enjoying the newly found comfort. The district attorney's office was too cheap to buy nice chairs, so she often spent nine hours day sitting on hardwood that hardly did her any favors. She stares Olivia dead in the eye, unintentionally challenging her with nothing more then silence and a careful observation. "You should probably try to get home more often, detective."

There it was again, _detective_. It shouldn't of bothered her that much. "I could, but then I wouldn't have been treated to Chinese." It's a flippant comment and she knows it but she doesn't care. She's tired and as she sets her half eaten plate on the counter, she can't help but lean forward, elbows on her knees. "Alex..." She pauses, trying to find the appropriate words, sounding it out as best as possible. "Do...when we have a case that you're involved in directly, do you carry the things we see around with you?" It's a conversation she should be having with Elliot, but he's not around. Not like he use to be, and she needs somebody to talk to, even if she won't directly admit it. What she's doing right now, it's making conversation. Work is what they have in common, so it's safe territory. Better then the weather or the latest in sports.

It catches Alex by surprise, a narrow eyebrow raising ever so slightly behind her glasses as she mulls it over in her head. "Do I carry our cases around with me after they're finished? Of course. They're traumatic and they're nauseating and more importantly, they're _vivid_. This isn't homicide or vice, it's called special victims for a reason. It requires special people to deal with them, but that doesn't mean we aren't human. There's only so much we can do and only so much we can bare. What's bothering you, Olivia?"

There's multiple reasons she decides to let her emotions through at that moment. Alex using her first name, for the first time in their entire professional relationship. The fact that she's the first person to ask in...god, how many months? Finally being away from the precinct and her own cold apartment? Everything blends together into one moment, unforgiving and all too familiar as her jaw clenches, eyes swirling with far too many emotions. "Eight years old, Alex! Eight years old and...and what? Nothing. She doesn't have anyone mourning her or planning her funeral. We don't even know if there's anyone out there missing her! Someone would of came forward already if they cared about that child, there would be a missing persons alert or someone checking the local precincts, but there's nothing. No one. She's sitting down there on Melinda's table just...waiting." She reigns her emotions back, cracking her knuckles in irritation, feeling older with each crack and pop they give, settling back down into the couch. "How long is she going to wait?" Her shoulders drop, her voice a dangerously low whisper.

"You are."

"...what?"

"You are." Alex tries again, leaning a little bit towards her. "You're mourning for her. You all have, even if you don't openly show it. It might not be the people you _want _to be mourning for her, but it's happening all the same. And even if nobody comes forward, at least there were people who knew what happened to her. Something in this case will give, even if it takes some time."

"We don't have time, Alex." She breathes out her words.

There's something about the brutal simplicity of her statement that tears through Alex, eating away at her calm and collected resolve, unsure of how to get her point across. Dealing with the things they witnessed on a daily basis, it wasn't easy. Most people were in their unit for a year at most, always eager to move on with their lives and put all the horrors behind them. Not them though. They were the ones that stayed behind to pick up the pieces even when there was nothing left. Just cold moments and colder people. Instead of pushing her point across through words, she simply rests a hand over the older detective's, a sad smile on her face as the entire world fades behind them.

Sometimes a touch was all anyone ever needed.


End file.
